Chapter Twenty-Six
Haven
The good news is I didn’t break my hand, and I convinced my mates to wait to go to the hospital until I ate my mushrooms. Hitting Vivian was not like punching Brian.
My hand was still stiff, so it wasn’t the best idea to take on a shifter.
Luckily, my hand is just sprained. The doctor wrapped it and recommended ice and elevation.
I’ve taken way too much pleasure watching four tough shifters panicking.
When I got sick as a child, my mom was there to coddle me.
Once she was gone, my father put others in charge of my care.
He thought I was weak for letting a cold get me down, so maybe it’s wrong, but I love having someone concerned about my well-being.
The guys have left me alone since Heath called, so they are in the office on the phone with him.
I’m wandering my room instead of elevating my hand, contemplating calling my father.
He called twenty times today, and if I don’t want him coming here, I have to confront him.
I don’t know what kind of connections he has, so it may be easy for him to find Remy.
I stare at my phone, stopping in front of my mom’s paintings, wondering why I haven’t blocked his number and moved far away from him.
Perhaps I hoped he would change. He’s never shown any signs of doing so, but the little girl from the past who looked to him to guide her after Mom died is still inside me.
“Fuck.” I toss my phone in the air and have to juggle to catch it when it rings. My heart is beating hard as I grip it tight. It’s not father, but William. “Hello.”
“Why are you ignoring Dad?” he asks, briskly.
“I was about to call him back.”
“Do it. He’s worried.”
“When has he ever been worried about me?”
“All the time,” he sighs.
“William, we grew up in different houses. He’s never cared about me or my feelings.” I stare at the beauty on the wall and feel sad. “We used to be friends,” I whisper. I think I stunned him. “William?”
“Haven, you’re my sister.”
“Does that mean we can’t be friends?”
“Why are we talking about the past? You’re my sister, and I love you. I advise you to call Dad and explain yourself.” His lack of emotion and empathy shouldn’t surprise me.
“I’ll call him.” I nibble on my lip. “I don’t remember the last time you told me you loved me.”
“Do I need to? We’re family, we don’t have to speak about it.”
“It’s sad that you think so,” I whisper.
“Don’t be sad, just do what you need to.”
“Are you ever sad?”
“There isn’t a point to it. Life goes on, and it’s a waste of time dwelling on things you can’t change,” he grumbles.
“I feel bad,” I say softly.
“Don’t feel bad. Be the daughter you need to be.”
“That’s not what I feel bad about.”
“Haven, I have work to do.”
“I hope someday you realize life isn’t just about work and going through the motions.
You can’t ignore everything your whole life.
” I press my hand to the wall and bow my head.
“Father hit me all the time. He called me names sometimes and ignored me the rest of the time. He tried to control my emotions, thoughts, and actions. I hoped you wouldn’t follow in his footsteps, but it seems you have.
If you ever get married and I find out you're doing the same to her or your kids, I will find a way to stop it. I’m not going to talk to you again.
There is no point. I’m hurt you don’t seem to care about me at all. ”
“Haven…” He stalls, probably searching for something to say.
“Nothing to say? Now is the time to do it because you won’t have any other opportunity.
” I wait. And wait some more. “I won’t be living there anymore.
I’ve moved.” I pause, but he remains silent.
“Think about the things I said. Maybe someday I’ll check in and see if you have realized what an unfeeling dick you’ve been. ” This time, I don’t wait and hang up.
I navigate to my father’s number and hesitate. Taking a deep breath, I tip my head back and gather all the courage I have. Rolling my shoulders, I look down and press his name.
“Young lady—”
“Father,” I say quickly. “Do you remember when I was nine, and we hadn’t found out Mom was sick yet, and we went to a movie?
Mom bought me a princess dress. It was yellow with ruffles, and I wanted to wear it.
You encouraged me to, and told me how beautiful I was.
I barely remember what we watched because I was so happy to hold onto your arm and sit between my two favorite people in the world.
You bought me popcorn and candy. It was the best night.
When we got home, you carried me to bed because I fell asleep in the car.
I woke up when we got to my room, and you tucked me in and told me a story about a prince rescuing the princess.
” I blink rapidly and sit on the edge of the bed.
“That was the last good memory I have of you. Mom got sick, and left us, and you became a different person. I know you loved her, but I did too. She was beauty in every form, and when she left, the light went out of our home. It became sterile and cold. You worked all the time and hardly spoke to me. When you did, it was with anger and disdain. I did everything my little heart could to gain your attention, to have you love me again, but you never did. I understand how hurt you were, but Mom was gone, and I was still there. I needed you. I wished on all the stars for you to be my safe space and change back. All of my wishes then turned to a prince coming to get me. I finally got my wish, except the universe sent me four of them.” I exhale roughly.
“Do you need an apology?” he asks quietly.
I laugh. “No, because I don’t think you’ll mean it. Maybe, years ago, if you didn’t hit me, we could move past all the anger. Now, I can’t forgive you. I stopped trying to make excuses for your behavior.”
“Your mother was the love of my life.”
“I know. She was one of a kind, and I was devastated when she was gone. I feel bad you lost her.”
“You can’t understand,” he says.
“Maybe, but I could sympathize.” I think of losing my mates. “I was a child. As harsh as it sounds, you still had a responsibility to me, to William. We could have helped each other grieve.”
“You couldn’t help me. It’s the past, why are we talking about it now?”
“You’re right,” I sigh. “Sometimes I forget you don’t have emotions anymore.”
“You need to come home.”
“No. I won’t ever come back,” I say firmly.
“Haven, you can’t just move without discussing it with me.”
“You’re wrong. You lost the right to know anything about my life a long time ago.
I found a home. A real one. Filled with people who care about family, whether you are blood or found.
This is where I’m supposed to be. I let you control me for too long.
It’s my fault that I didn’t set my boundaries after I moved out.
I thought it was easy to have our weekly phone calls and listen to your lectures.
Never again. I’m living my life for me, not you. ”
“Who were the men moving your things?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does. Are they the four men you mentioned?”
“No. What matters is that I don’t live there anymore. Let me go,” I whisper.
“Haven—”
“If you ever loved me, just let me go.” I pause, and the silence is long.
“I found something great. I don’t need your permission or blessing.
I don’t care how many men work for you who could find me.
Your business is none of mine. As long as it doesn’t affect me, I’ll let you continue whatever deals you make. ”
“Do you have your mother’s paintings?”
“Why?”
“I have a buyer.”
“No,” I snap.
“He’s offering a lot of money.”
“I don’t give a fuck. They are mine. Mom left them to me. I will never sell them.”
“The man is hard to refuse. You don’t realize what that kind of money could do for us.”
“There is no us.” I brush back my hair, fisting it on the back of my head. “I have the paperwork saying she left those to me. I am the rightful owner, and it has nothing to do with you. If you try to make a deal, I will fight you. I have people around me who will never allow you near me.”
“I deserve—”
“You don’t deserve anything,” I growl, standing up.
“You don’t want to push me. If you do, I will share all the pictures I took of the abuse you inflicted on me.
My friend advised me to gather evidence, just in case.
I have dozens of pictures of my bruised face. Will bad press affect your business?”
“You wouldn’t,” he hisses.
“If you try to fuck with my life or take Mom’s pictures, I’ll fight so dirty you’ll be covered in shit.
You didn’t pay much attention to me except with your fists, but I raised myself.
I decided a long time ago to plan my future.
I have the money Mom gave me under lock and key.
I’ve made copies of all the pictures. I also gave them to a trusted friend who won’t hesitate to fuck you up if something happens to me.
I’m not your little princess anymore. I grew up and hardened my heart when it comes to you.
” I drop my hand and flinch. My anger overrode my pain.
“I was a curious child. When you were working all the time, I played in your office. There was an old typewriter in there that I would pretend to write letters on. Sometimes, I took a peek in the drawers. I was lonely, so I would read the notes I found.”
“What did you find?” he asks faintly.
“You don’t want to find out,” I say softly.
“You're threatening me.”
“I’m making you a promise. Don’t mess with me or anyone I love, and people won’t have to find out what a bad person you are. Your business is all about being a model man. It’s your choice.”
“Fine,” he grits out. “What do you want?”
“To be left alone. You don’t have a daughter. I live my life, and you live yours. We won’t talk again. Call off any of the men you have had following me, and I won’t come back.”
“I want the evidence,” he says.
“That would be silly. Why would I give it to you? How will I know you will keep your word?”
“Alright,” he grits out. “If you keep those things to yourself, I’ll leave you alone.”
“Good choice.” My heart aches, and I press my palm to it.
“Are we done?” he asks harshly.
“Yeah, we’re done,” I whisper. He hangs up, and I stare at his name a moment before blocking the number. My eyes sting, and my breath is short. I look up when I hear footsteps and see Lawson in the doorway. “I spoke to my father.”
“I heard,” he says, walking toward me.
“It’s done. We’re done.” I inhale roughly. “Why am I so sad?”
“Because you're a good person.” He steps close and wraps his arms around me.
“I shouldn’t care. He was a horrible father.” I press my cheek against his chest. “Why am I not relieved?”
“He was still your father,” he whispers. “You can feel however you want to feel.” He glides his hand down my hair. “Let it out.” He scoops me up and carries me to the bed.
“I’m fine,” I swallow hard, as he puts his knee on the bed.
“I know,” he says, placing me gently on the mattress. The tears start to fall. He settles beside me and pulls me close.
I shove my face against his neck and let go. I cry not for the father-daughter relationship I had, but the one I didn’t.